


Foreigner of the Mountain

by DemiMortal (orphan_account)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Cultural Differences, Demisexuality, Eventual Romance, Fantasy, Fictional Religion & Theology, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Polyamory, Implied/Referenced Slavery, Language Barrier, M/M, Magic, Meeting at Alter, Misunderstandings, Royalty, Slow Burn, Slut Shaming, prude shaming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 15:08:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16410821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DemiMortal
Summary: Crown Prince Aldrick insults the Goddess of Matrimony. When he returns home he learns that he is to marry a weakling southern. Aldrick assumes his fiance is the curse the Goddess mentioned.All Mihir wants is peace and a satisfying relationship with his betrothed. Between cultural differences, language barriers, an upcoming war, and a goddess’ curse his desires seem impossible.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: One of the main characters is demisexual and the story is tagged as slow burn. If this will frustrate you then I suggest reading something else. Please don't leave comments about how the main character needs to "get over himself" and have sex already. 
> 
> Unbetaed. All mistakes are mine.

"Whoever decided that coming of age involved killing things deserves to be shot," Ivan hissed. He suppressed a shudder as the wind picked up and crouched further behind his cover of frost-tipped branches.

Aldrick, Crown Prince of Elysadia, muffled a laugh. "Quit whining," he said with a note of affection, "do you want to stay a boy forever? Be glad we aren't from Ilen. There they make their men cliff dive and in Morabi they drink the venom of the blue feathered snake."

Ivan narrowed his eyes, face pinched. "You're making things up."

"Brat." Aldrick let his eyes track across the white landscape. Unlike Ivan, Aldrick completed his coming of age three years ago and earned the right to sail. He had been to Ilen, Morabi, and beyond. Aldrick took a deep breath through his nose. The air burned his throat like strong ale. His hand twitched toward his face, long fingers brushed against the wool fabric of his mask. He itched to pull the warm knit over his nose, but in hunting, scent was nearly as important as sight. Often Aldrick could smell an elk’s rank odor before he saw it. He took a breath, ice pooling in his lungs, but the air stayed crisp, smelling only of fresh snow.

"Anything?"

Aldrick shook his head, lips thinning. The Hunger Moon was approaching, the time of year when the food stores began to dwindle and spring had yet to show her face. Aldrick hoped to capture something for the Anadal feast at the beginning of the Hunger Moon. Every year the royal family held a feast to help the citizens through the rest of the winter. While in the modern era the feast wasn't as essential as in past years, when the winters were harsher, the feast was still symbolic. The meat Ivan would bring would show the kingdom that Ivan could provide for them. As the son of the King's lesser wife, the second wife, Ivan needed to work harder to gain the favor of the people. Aldrick was not letting Ivan bring the pathetic rabbit he'd caught in a flimsy trap. Ivan could whine all he wanted, but Aldrick was going to help him down an elk.

Ivan let out a long sigh in a puff of crystalline white. The younger teen rolled his shoulders back as if fortifying himself for a long wait. He cupped his mouth and let out an elk call that rumbled through the clearing. Aldrick’s lips twitched against his wool mask. Ivan's animal calls were getting better. They no longer sounded as if he was trying to warn the animals away rather than lure them. Aldrick wouldn’t be surprised if that was Ivan’s intention when Aldrick had first taught the boy to hunt. Ivan's heart was soft like warm butter. Aldrick pulled his mask down the rest of the way, shivering as cool air caressed over hot lips. He let out his own call that merged with Ivan’s to mimic two cows arguing. With luck, the noise would lure a bull to them.

Time passed. The shadows seemed to form a physical presence as they draped over the men’s shoulders like a cold weight. The air sizzled with a faint energy. It was said that as Anadal neared, the veil between worlds thinned. According to legend the power that seeped into their world gained a tangible presence. Anadal marked not only the beginning of the Hunger Moon but the first stirrings of spring. The world was transitioning between a time of endings and beginnings, death and life.

Aldrick was not a superstitious man. He refused to be frightened by the foolish babbling of the common folk. When the unearthly creature entered the clearing, Aldrick’s mind wasn’t swayed by fantastical thoughts of spirits or Goddesses or curses; his mind focused on the hunt. The beast, an elk larger than any Aldrick had ever seen, stood taller than a grown man at its shoulders alone. With a soundless grace contrary to its size, the elk glided into the clearing. In its wake, the snow lay unblemished; free of hoof prints or any sign of the beast’s passing. Though the princes hid downwind, the air was free of any hint of the beast’s musk or scent.

Aldrick’s breath froze, crystallizing in his throat. The meat alone would feed the court six times over, with generous portions. Its pure white hide blended seamlessly with the snow. Ignorant of his people's beliefs, the significance of the elk's coloring was lost on Aldrick, but not Ivan.

"Nevar," the teen whispered, his voice awed and reverent at once. Aldrick resisted snorting. Trust Ivan to make a curse sound like a prayer. The beast was awe inspiring. Aldrick’s eyes flickered to the bull, but it hadn't moved from its spot. Its ears twitched and it lowered its great head to nuzzle snow off the tender grass. It lipped the grass up, undisturbed by Ivan's blunder. A trick of the light made an ethereal glow seem to emanate from the creature; its towering antlers reflected a silver and rose-gold light. Aldrick turned to his brother with a raised eyebrow. The younger prince rarely swore and he knew better than to speak during a hunt.

Ivan shivered. The teen’s hands shook where they wrapped around his bow. The whites of his eyes shone around pale blue and he took a step back, shaking his head. “Oh Goddess,” Ivan swore. Aldrick’s pale brows bent as he reached out and took hold of Ivan’s thin shoulder. The boy trembled and made a sign touching his temples, an apologetic prayer for forgiveness. Realization hit Aldrick in the gut. Ivan wasn’t swearing. The sixteen-year-old thought the beast was the goddess', Nevar, spirit animal, the white elk.

The crown prince’s lips thinned. He could feel a headache blooming beneath his forehead. The stories about how the gods still walked the Earth were fairy tales told by bards to wide-eyed children. At sixteen, Ivan was too old to believe such nonsense. Aldrick had long put behind childish delusions in favor of following his responsibilities as a future king. It was time Ivan did the same. He pressed his fingers into Ivan's coat and pried the bow from his hands with a glare. Aldrick was not going home empty-handed. Especially not because of his brother’s foolish superstitions. The meat and hide would provide food and warmth for their people. The bones would become sewing needles, buttons, and handles for tools and weapons. Nothing would go to waste. The bounty would raise Ivan up in the eyes of the kingdom. If Aldrick had to lie about who made the killing shot, he would. He caught Ivan’s ice-blue glare. "Circle left and lure it towards you so I can make a shot," the prince's lips moved with the faintest of breaths. "Understood?"

Ivan’s chest heaved. His brows lowered into a defiant glare. He opened his mouth, chin raised for a breath before he lowered his eyes. Ivan bit his lip and gave a curt nod, but stood his ground, avoiding his brother’s eyes. He understood, but he wasn’t going to obey. With a frustrated heat bubbling in his chest, Aldrick shoved Ivan, making the boy stumble. Ivan’s mouth clicked shut and he turned with a huff, stomping off. Aldrick would get an earful on their way home and most likely a lecture from Inka about being kinder to his brother. Aldrick watched him go with a groan. He couldn’t deal with another of Ivan’s misguided attempts to save another animal from the dinner table. The boy never complained where the meat came from when he snarfed it down at supper time.

Aldrick wasn’t worried about the noise Ivan made as the boy trampled through the snow. Elk were noisy creatures by nature. The Crown Prince knew for a fact that Ivan could slip through the snow like a shadow. It took effort for a native of Elysadian to make noise in the mountains. The sounds of twigs snapping and rocks rolling underfoot would lower the elk's suspicions. A loud whine pierced the air, followed by a mewl like a cow. The elk raised its great head, white ears twitching. The elk turned toward the noise, its broadside to Aldrick. Aldrick raised the bow and with the ease of muscle memory let the arrow loose through the beast’s side. The elk jerked and stumbled into the treeline. If the arrow pierced both lungs then the animal wouldn’t get far. Aldrick lowered his bow. Once the wounded animal was out of sight, Aldrick unstrung the bow. Ivan emerged and stalked across the clearing. His posture was stiff with head tilted up. The boy’s mouth opened and snapped closed. Aldrick could feel his headache intensifying and let out a breath of air as a bout of exhaustion hit.

“Here,” Aldrick held the bow out like a peace offering.

Ivan snatched it and the quiver of arrows with a growl. "We should have left the creature alone. Nevar's anger is not something to dismiss."

“If Nevar gets upset I’ll take full blame. Besides, how do you know the beast wasn’t a gift from the gods?” Aldrick shrugged off his brother's self-righteous temper tantrum. It was useless to argue over the past. In the pink-blue light of the setting sun, Aldrick could just make out a line of red splatters against the pure snow. “Come on.” The carcass would need to be field dressed and brought home.

* * *

 

Ivan, the little fool, had denied any involvement in the killing of the great elk. He would rather wait a year for another chance at becoming a man than risk Nevar’s wrath. Much to Aldrick’s vexation, Ivan gave full credit to his elder brother.

Ivan hadn’t bothered to turn in the pathetic excuse of a rabbit he’d caught. The little, fluffy nitwit had survived Ivan’s trap unharmed. Despite Aldrick’s lectures on how “Petra” (blasted doofes named the pest) was useless for anything besides food, Ivan insisted on shielding it from the kitchens. It was no wonder the court didn’t take Ivan seriously, not when he insisted on acting like a bright eyed toddler.

That year’s Anadal feast, which was intended to celebrate Ivan’s rise to manhood, focused on Aldrick. Ballads were written in his honor, new dishes named after him, and he was hailed with congratulations for killing the elk. It was more attention than Aldrick received at his own coming of age. It wasn’t until the celebration had stretched into the fourth day that the crown prince questioned the people’s revelry. Even then, the thought swam in the back of his mind, seeming insignificant.

On the fourth night, Aldrick slipped from the banquet hall into the night air. It was the first time he’d gotten a moment to himself since the start of the feast. A trail of bonfires flickered from the royal mansion into the capital below. Music blasted through the thick doors and out the highest widows. The ground seemed to shake with the strength of the drums. Aldrick’s blood thrummed with life (or was that alcohol?) and fingers of cool air stroked his fevered flesh. He stumbled forward, following the hot light and heady laughter of the fires.

A dance competition was in full swing as the prince neared. Though it could hardly be called dancing. It seemed to consist of hysterical laughter, wobbling steps, and clumsy attempts at staying upright.

At the edge of the flickering light, half hidden in the dark, stood a few off-duty guards. They were passing a flask among themselves as they made comments on the dancers’ skills, as if the soldiers were a panel of judges. Among them was the man Aldrick was looking for.

“Fionn,” he purred with half-lidded eyes.

The young guard turned, light flickered over the handsome planes of his face. His eyes widen. Aldrick smirked, his eyes calling “Come hither,” but Fionn seemed frozen to the spot. With a huff, Aldrick advanced. Fionn’s eyes, purple-blue puddles in the light, stayed on Aldrick. His lips opened, but no words emerged.

With an amused smile, Aldrick took the flask from Fionn’s nimble fingers and handed it, without taking his eyes off his conquest, to one of the other off-duty guards. If Fionn was surprised by Aldrick’s presence, then clearly the young man had too much to drink. Aldrick would have looked for Fionn earlier, but he hadn’t been able to get any privacy until now. The crown prince was likely the only adult who hadn’t enjoyed a nice tumble.

Aldrick slung an arm around Fionn’s shoulders, pulling them chest to chest. He could feel the hard lines of Fionn’s torso heave, his abs sliding along his own. He loved that Fionn was the same height. It took little effort to merge their lips. Aldrick’s hand gripped his lover’s curls as he drank the familiar taste of spiced chocolate and oiled leather.

Fionn responded, having found his wits. The soldier’s callused hands slipped into Aldrick’s tunic, burning the muscles of Aldrick’s back, his spine. Aldrick arched into the touch, letting Fionn grind against him.

The prince groaned pulling free from Fionn’s delectable mouth. Fionn took the opportunity to nip along his lover’s jaw and neck. “Let’s take this somewhere private,” Aldrick panted. All the blood rushed from his head to his groin and he needed.

Near the bonfires were beds made up with rare heat plates from Argova, recharged each morning by one of the Shain devils. Aldrick pulled Fionn out of the light of the fire and into the darkness where he knew a bed lay waiting. The beds were for those who passed out, the heat plates meant to keep away frostbite, but Aldrick had found a better use for them. He shoved Fionn onto the thick furs and climbed over his muscled form. He offered a thigh between Fionn’s legs, which Fionn grinded against with gasping breaths as the prince worked at the guard’s shirt ties. The strength of Fionn’s movements, the muscles undulating under his shirt, the raw masculine power made Aldrick light headed.

“Need you,” he breathed against Fionn’s ear, his nose tickling soft brunette curls. The shirt came undone and Aldrick ran his hands up the corded muscles of Fionn’s sides. Fionn’s breath hitched, a suppressed shudder ran through his spine. Aldrick laughed, pressing his thigh harder against Fionn’s groin.

The soldier growled, a throaty vibration that sent a shiver through Aldrick and gripped the back of Aldrick’s neck, calloused fingers pressing into the prince’s skin. “Don’t be a tease,” he snapped before flipping them over. Aldrick loss his breath as his back hit the furs and Fionn’s hand reached to fondle the royal jewels. Fionn licked a swipe up Aldrick’s neck, leaving a trail of electricity in his path. “You’re so damn slu--sexy.” Aldrick’s brows pinched guessing at the slip of tongue. Fionn knew better. Fionn brushed a quick kiss to Aldrick’s forehead, an apology for the slip. “I never thought you’d be so brash as to lay with another man at your engagement.”

Aldrick’s mind blanked as he tried to process. “What? My what?”

Fionn’s brushed Aldrick’s nipple, a zing sparking through the prince’s blood, and muddling his concentration. “Don’t play coy,” Fionn teased, “you know the celebration is in part to your engagement announcement.”

The prince sat up, shoving Fionn onto his ass, and straightening his clothes with sharp jerks. “When was my engagement announced?”

Fionn blinked, his features bare outlines in the shadows. “Before the Anadal festival started, at midnight.”

Several nights ago and Aldrick was just learning of it. A sinking feeling pooled in his gut. The “congratulations” he’d been receiving day in and day out might not have been about his kill. “Who?” He marched toward the mansion, Fionn left to scramble after his friend.

Fionn bit his lip. “A prince from Argova, I believe.” His voice was soft, hesitate, worried about incurring Aldrick’s rage.

Argova? Any lingering passions Aldrick felt evaporated. They expected him to marry a prissy, hell-cursed foreigner from the flatlands? His surroundings sped by in a hazy rage. He found the king judging meat pies by the kitchen and without preamble asked, “What is the meaning of this?”

Eero sighed heavily, setting down his fork. Ignoring his son, the king turned to the twittering group of finalists and asked to be excused. It seemed he had some important business to discuss with the heir apparent. Then he stood, bones creaking, and lead Aldrick with a firm hand on his shoulder to a more private area. “It seems we have something to discuss. In two days a ship from Argova will be arriving with the youngest child of Empress Jya, and his entourage. You will be waiting there to meet your betrothed.”


	2. Chapter 2

Prince Mehir knelt at the back of the cozy classroom, his back to the sun-warmed wall. A few students entered and sat on the floor, arranging bright robes and skirts around their legs and unpacking books and note-taking material. A light chatter rose, mixing with the bubbling of the courtyard fountains and the thud of canvas shoes on cobblestones. The open golden arches of the room let sound and light in. The spell for soundproofing carved into the crown molding was colorless and unactivated. Mehir traced the pattern with resin-colored eyes. In his mind he unweaved the spell, which worked as a precise list of instructions, and calculated how he would have crafted the spell to make it more economical.

Mehir fingered the medallion hanging from his neck. It signified his right to an imperial education. With it over his robes he could walk through the palace university without question. Only... the pendant wasn't his. The medallion and the right that came with it belonged to Jahoni, his sister. Jahoni was fifth-born, scholar. Mehir was sixth-born, peacekeeper, and while he believed that knowledge was essential to fulfilling his designation many disagreed. A dull throb echoed through his hand and Mehir started, loosening his hold on the pendant. He lifted his hand to see his palm indented from the engraved metal. Even after years of sneaking into the university guilt-born anxiety trickled over his spine like warm molasses and settled in his skin. The prince tugged the hood of his robe to shade his eyes, heart fluttering. Wearing the medallion, acting like he had a right to be there, like he belonged with the scholars was wrong. 

Mehir closed his eyes and took shallow breaths. He reviewed his list of reasons why he didn't need to feel guilty for wanting an education. First, Jahoni gave her permission. Technically, Mehir wasn't banned from the palace university, only firmly discouraged. Second, the medallion was Jahoni's idea and he was only borrowing the right. Besides Jahoni preferred her her private study. Where she only dealt with people through written correspondents and the occasional discussion over coffee. If she ever wanted the charm, which happened on occasion, Mehir would not hesitate. In the meantime, however, there wasn't any harm in him getting some use out of it. Right? Third, Mehir tried not to take away resources from the real students. He stuck to the back and rarely spoke up.

His duty wasn't that of a scholar after all. Learning was not his life purpose. He was Peacekeeper, sixth born, destined to... an arranged marriage, most likely. Though after how things ended with Jeong... Well, it was best not to think of it. A warm tingle brushed over his skin in a brief gust, like a draft from an door opening. He glanced up to see the professor activate the sound canceling spell and close a curtain over the archway.

Mehir perked up from his seat, his unease dissipating.

* * *

 

Mehir smiled as he left the classroom. His mind buzzed with ideas and connections. He couldn’t wait to continue his discussion with Jahoni. 

Literature didn’t interest Jahoni as much as Mehir, but she indulged him. She was kind enough not the mention that she was more knowledgeable or that his “insights” were hardly noteworthy. Instead, she asked leading questions, encouraging him to take a deeper look at things and to think critically.

It was a good day. The sun neared midday. Mehir would pick a pomegranate from the palace courtyard. Jahoni and he could snack on the ruby fruit while they talked. Chances were that she forgot lunch, as usual, so she would be grateful.

“Mehir!” a voice barked. Against his better judgement, Mehir spun around, affirming to the speaker his identity. Devon’s hair was shorn short, showing off the sharp, handsome angles of his face. He marched to Mehir, his lips flattened into a disproving line, and the strong line of his eyebrows drawn into a ‘v’.

Mehir bit his lip as his elder brother neared, shoulders slumping. There was no point in trying to hide the medallion, Devon’s sharp eyes would have caught it already.

Devon was third-born, the protector. Of all Mehir’s siblings, Devon took his designation the most serious, to the point of mother-henning the rest of them. “Why did I know I’d find you here?” Devon folded his arms over his broad chest. He glanced at the classroom they were outside of with an acidic frown, voice rising. “Really? Of all places-”

Confused, Mehir glanced at the building and felt his heart drop. Spellcasters. The one subject that a mage, like Mehir, was forbidden from learning. “I wasn’t-”

“Were you planning on impersonating a non-mage?”

“No,” Mehir snapped, face heating. That Devon would think Mehir would be so stupid, after what happened in Shain? “Of course not.” Devon’s eyes softened and he reached to pat Mehir’s shoulder, but the younger man sidestepped out of the way. Mehir’s voice dropped to a pained whisper, “I’ve learned my lesson.”

Devon’s gaze shifted to the side, clearly uncomfortable. “Look. I’m sorry. I know you wouldn’t.”

Mehir shrugged.

Devon cleared his throat. “That’s not why I came looking for you anyway. Mom and Dad summoned you for an official conference with them as Empress and Empress’ Consort. They weren’t pleased to find you’d left main palace.”

Mehir swallowed and licked dry lips. “Do you know what they want to talk about?”

Devon shook his head. “No, but let's not keeping them waiting.”

* * *

 

Jya and Kiaan looked down on their youngest from the raised dais. Mehir gave a deep bow and feeling his parents’ disappointment stayed bowed until Jya gave the order to rise. The prince kept his eyes lowered on his canvas shoes. Upon entering the main palace he’d discarded his outer robes. He felt vulnerable in a loose pair of trousers and a sleeveless, embroidered tunic.

Jya’s lips pursed in a scowl. “What were you doing outside the main palace?”

“I borrowed Jahoni’s right to the university so I could take some arithmetic and literary classes.”

“I see. Do you find the palace tudors so lacking that you felt you must endanger your life? As peacekeeper it is your duty to prevent conflicts, not start them.”

Mehir swallowed and ducked his head lower. “I’m sorry, Your Imperial Highness. I won’t leave without permission again.” His skin itched at the loss of his last freedom. He understood why as mages, Malika and he were confined to the main palace, but that didn’t make him resent it less.

Jya waved her hand like she was shooing a pesky bug. “It is irrelevant now. That is not why you were summoned. You know of the war between Ilen and Lesh?” She didn’t wait for answer, knowing he did. “The war has been costly for both sides and is nearing an end. Whoever wins will need funds and people to rebuild. Shain,” Shain being a kingdom within the Empire of Argova, “is the closest to the two warring kingdoms.”

Mehir frowned seeing where the conversation was leading. Shain was rich with gold, soul gems, and silk. The population had a significant percentage of mages, which were valuable as slaves (especially since Argovian mages were helpless without their spellcasters). The last few years had not smiled on Shain. A recent plague wiped out the majority of the army. Shain was too tempting a prize to leave unmolested.

“We have been in negotiations with Elysadia,” Jya continued. She watched Mehir with a sharp intensity that made him uneasy.

Mehir’s brows pinched together in bewilderment. Argova and Elysadia were sworn enemies for years. The Elysadians often raided Argovian shores. If found within Argovian territories, Elysadians were swiftly executed without trial. However the Elysadians have an impressive fleet of warships that patrolled the waters between Ilen and Shain. Mehir supposed an alliance with Elysadia would make Shain a less tempting target. What Mehir couldn’t figure out was what that had to do with him.

“Their crown prince is known for having particular tastes.”

Mehir’s eyes narrowed. “You mean he’s gay,” he said bluntly, an uneasy tightness making it difficult to breath. It was no secret that the highly promiscuous crown prince of Elysadia only slept with men.

Jya glared at Mehir until he took a step back and lowered his head once more.

This time it was Kiaan who spoke, his voice soft and sympathetic. “We know your interests go both ways and in Elysadia one is allowed to marry a second spouse after four years of marrying the first. If Prince Aldrick married a man as his first spouse, then he would be require to marry a woman for his second. Any child of hers, sired by the prince or his consort would be considered legitimate.”

Mehir shook his head, not in defiance, but denial.

“It would be in the best interest of both of countries,” Jya continued “to create an alliance bound by your and Aldrick’s marriage.”

The ground seemed to open up under Mehir the way his organs jumped to his throat. He’d always known he’d have an arranged marriage, but he’d spent the first seventeen years of his life expecting to marry Lady Jeong. After what happened, Mehir half convinced himself that he was never going to marry and if he did he never expected to be married to the prince of Elysadia. Where they killed and enslaved mages.

Jya didn’t wait for an answer. Mehir knew his duty. There was only one answer. “You will be leaving for Elysadia at the end of the week. Until then, in light of recent actions, you are to be confined to your rooms. To ensure there are no mishaps, the wedding is set for the day after your arrival.”

* * *

Lantern light swung across the teak planks of the ship. Mihir watched the light caress over Jahoni’s dark shoulders as she pressed the tip of a the ceremonial cone to his ankle. It was with steady hands that she drew fine lines of paste on his skin. The paste was chilly, especially as they traveled farther north. “Stay still,” she said holding his foot still with one hand before she continued her delicate art.

“Sorry,” Mihir whispered. He was sitting on a hard chair, arms outstretched, so as to not smudge the fresh markings. It was hard to stay still on a moving ship. He couldn’t even use his hands for balance. “I’m a little nervous.”

Jahoni looked up through dark lashes at her brother. “It’s your duty-”

“Declared by the gods, I know.” He bit his lip and looked away. He wanted to cover his gooseflesh skin, it was freezing. Jahoni had on several thick layers of cloth, while Mihir sat only in his underclothes. It left his calves, arms, and feet bare for the paste that would stain his skin in temporary designs.

He would have suggested foregoing the ceremonial markings altogether, but he knew how his parents would react to that. It would dishonor them. Nevermind that these barbaric northerners wouldn’t understand what the designs meant. The gods would would take note and Mihir would bring bad fortunes on the kingdom during a time his parents were striving for peace.

His parents weren’t even going to be present for the wedding. His only family members who were coming were Jahoni and Devon as high wisewoman and general. They would facilitate in seeing that the marriage was performed correctly and the signing of the treaty.

“It isn’t something to take lightly,” Jahoni scolded. She was drawing a line of butterflies up the side of his ankle. It was a sign of change, rebirth. “You have a duty to the empire.”

“I know.” His stomach twisted. In less than thirty-six hours he would be married to the northern barbarian prince. A man he’d never met. He shivered. This time, not just because of the cold.

“I told you stay still! You want the color to sink in. It wouldn’t do for it to wash off only after a day or two.” Jahoni scowled in the shifting light.

Mihir stilled with some effort, his arms shaking in the chilly air.

How long the marks lasted was supposed to be a sign of the depth of his husband’s love. Mihir wouldn’t be all that surprised if it washed off within a day, even before the wedding. He didn’t know anything about the northerners except that they were unbelievers that drank the blood of their enemies and enslaved mages as chattel. He wasn’t sure if they were the type of people he’d want to make an alliance with.

He glanced down at the dark patterns trailing his skin in the thick mud-like paste. His arms were twinned with vines and leaves of devotion. Devotion to his family, his country, but most of all his husband. Scorpions for desire and romance to bring heat, breathlessness, and sparkling eyes. A tortoise for protection.

“Why did you add paisley?” Paisley meant fertility, something completely useless for Mihir, considering he was marrying another man.

“It means luck. I thought you might need it.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

The ship sailed through a fjord into the territory of Elysadia. On either side of the water the mountains climbed to breathtaking heights. Mehir was used to the small mountains of Shain which in comparison to Elysadia’s were actually large hills. The fjord stretched for miles without a trace of man’s intervention. The land was wild, dotted with frozen waterfalls and smothered in pines.

Mehir was freezing, but he could not bring himself to go below decks. This was his new home, beautiful and alien. Mehir sent a silent prayer to the spirit of mountains that they would tolerate him. His heart ached. He wanted something and the pain of wanting was so exquisite and sharp that Mehir didn't dare look inside himself to find out what it was. He would always be a foreigner here.

Mehir wore several layers of his warmest clothing, but the icy wind cut through them. Not even his heat crystals could prevent the wind from stealing his life-heat. His lashes frosted over by the time the ship docked against a rocky shore. There were a group of natives on horseback awaiting the Argovians arrival.

Mehir waited as the gangway was prepared, less patient with the cold now that his attention wasn’t focus on the spectacular view. The ice cleaved through his bones and seemed to crystallize in his marrow. He wrapped an arm around himself for warmth as Jahoni led the way down the gangplank. 

Mihir followed in his canvas shoes, completely unsuitable for his new home, but the only footwear that he even owned. The snow melted under his feet, soaking into the fabric. His breath hitched and he worried his feet might fall off. He must have looked absolutely ridiculous to the Northerners, wrapped up in several layers of brightly clashing clothes, his jewelry ringing like chimes. It was not the type of first impression he had hoped for, when meeting his new countrymen.

Mihir approached the barbarians with Jahoni, Devon, and his brother-in-law Hiro. The men on the shore wore thick colorless furs. Their hair was wild and they were unshaven. One man, who Mihir assumed was the leader by his posture and finer--if furs could be called fine--attirement came forward to speak. He stayed mounted, as did the entirety of the Elsadian welcome party, forcing Mehir to strain his neck to make eye contact.

_ “Welcome, Argovians! I am King Eero, ruler of Elysadia and the northern seas. We are pleased to welcome you as honoured guests.” _

The language of the north was heavier than Mihir’s birth tongue. There were more consonants crammed together and the words sounded rough to his ears. Mihir wished that he’d had more time to prepare for his marriage. Otherwise he would have studied the northern language in more depth. Mihir was lucky that he’d studied Neegali, the language shared by the northern countries, at all. He could speak it and understand it well enough if the words were spoken with clear pronunciation and at a slow pace and if the vocabulary didn’t trail too far from standard topics. He got the gist of what...King Eero, had said. It was some sort of welcoming.

He bowed low, his kohl lined eyes staying on the king.  _ “I am very honoured by your hospitality,” _ he recited carefully, his words slow and unsure. His accent must’ve been atrocious. He stood and motioned to himself with a hand marked in red dye. _ “I am Prince Mehir Nejem, sixth child of Jya Nejem, Empress of Argova and Kiaan, Empress’ Consort. I am, _ Peacemaker.” The word didn’t exactly translate well, but it was traditional in formal introductions so he rushed on. He motioned to Devon and Jahoni next to him.  _ “This is my sister, Jahoni Nejem, fifth child of Jya and Kiaan Nejem. She is  _ Wise One. A _ nd my brother, third child of Jya,  _ Protector.”

Mehir snapped his fingers and servants came forward with six delicately carved chests.  _ “We have brought gifts to honor the union between your honorable son and myself.”  _ He shivered, his lashes thick with ice, his lips numb with cold.

The chests were filled with expensive spices, soul gems, bright cloths, medicines and herbs from the south, and  spelled plates of various types. Mihir couldn’t help, but feel like he was just another gift, a bribe for their alliance.

Mihir only hoped in exchange that they’d give him some warmer clothes, even if theirs were plain and lifeless. It was better than freezing to death.

King Eero smiled and commented on the quality and quantity of the treasures. He accepted each chest with a blessing of gratitude. Mehir shifted his feet in an attempt at warmth as the formalities progressed. He should have waited until they were somewhere warm to present them. Another ill impression. His eyes wandered over the men present, looking for his betrothed.

_ “So many beautiful things,” _ a regal-looking woman at the king’s side remarked. She glanced down on Mehir with sharp amber eyes, her thin lip curling. _ “One might think them persuasive.” _

Mehir’s insides squirmed. He wished he knew what she was saying. He’d only caught ‘beautiful things’ and couldn’t help thinking she was talking of him. Whatever she said it didn’t sound kind. King Eero shot the woman a look. Without a word she turned her horse away and departed, her seat perfect and imposing. Light reflected off a silver circlet half buried in the weaves of her auburn hair.

* * *

 

The royal family resided in a large house on a stretch of land higher than the rest of the capital. It was well known that Elysadia didn't have a quarter of the riches of Argova or even Argova's smallest kingdom, Orson. The estate was large enough for a household, their servants, and a few guests, but hardly what Mehir would expect to be a king's home of operations.

After freshening up Mehir, Jahoni, Devon, and Hiro were led to a sunroom, overhanging the edge of the cliff. Sturdy floor to ceiling windows looked out onto the valley and fjord below. The bright reds, blues, and yellows of the wooden houses stuck out like a splash of paint on the snowy canvas. Eero sat in a wooden chair with elaborate carvings, a woman sat on either side of him. One was the amber-eyed woman with a silver circlet, the other was younger with bright blue eyes and a heavy braid of golden hair. She too wore a silver circlet. On her other side stood a lanky male teenager with the same mane of golden locks. There was an empty chair on the other end of the half circle.

Eero gestured for Mehir and his company to take seats across from them.

They sat. Jahoni and Devon in the middle with Mehir and Hiro to either side so they could hash out the fine points of the treaty. 

“ _ This is my first wife Magdaleena.”  _ Eero pointed to the auburn haired woman. “ _ This is my second wife Inka and our son Ivan _ .” The second woman with blonde hair and the young teenager beside her. Ivan, that wasn’t the name of Mehir’s betrothed. He found himself relieved--because Ivan looked too young--and anxious at once. Where was Aldrick? Mehir hoped to met his fiance before the wedding.

Jahoni translated for both sides. 

Devon frowned and straightened in his seat. “Where is your first born?”

Eero made an irritated waving motion with his hand. “ _ Aldrick is the crown prince. He’s busy. _ ”

“Busy?” Devon’s voice hardened. “What is so blasted important that he can’t meet his intended?”  Shocked, Mehir set a hand on Devon’s arm to calm him and shook his head. Don’t antagonize them. It wouldn’t be worth it. 

“ _ He’ll be here on time for the wedding.” _

“It’s okay,” Mehir whispered. “I’m sure he is very busy otherwise he’d be here. I can wait to meet him.”

Devon ignored Mehir, focused on the king. “There won’t be a wedding until we know that the rituals and traditions of our people will be respected.”

Eero’s eyes narrowed.  _ “Your traditions will be respected. I will speak on behalf of my son during the negotiations. He will honor my decisions. Let us move on to discuss the treaty.”  _ The man’s voice was hard, brooking no argument.

Devon and Jahoni exchanged suspicions looks, but went forward with the negotiations. It went late into the night and eventually Jahoni sent Mehir away, telling him that he needed to rest for tomorrow. Ivan was excused to escort Mehir to one of the guest bedrooms. 

_ “I’m sorry about my brother,”  _ Ivan said as they slipped into the corridor.  _ “His absence isn’t excusable, but...the engagement was a surprise to him. He needed to take some time to come to terms.” _

Mehir nodded politely, but didn’t mention that the engagement was a surprise to him too. He was disappointed, but he tried to keep his voice calm and polite as they walked. Ivan told him about his new pet, some fluffy little white creature called Petra. Mehir wasn’t sure if “Petra” was the pet’s name or its species. The younger man was easy to talk to and patient. He didn’t seem annoyed when Mehir asked him to repeat things or that it took Mehir awhile to reply. When they reached the door to the guest rooms Ivan hesitated a moment. “ _ My brother is a nice guy, really. He just, well it takes time for him to let people in. Don’t let it upset you.” _

Mehir frowned, but nodded and slipped into his room. 

Mehir paced his room. He’d been given soft fur boots that felt strange, but were warm. It took him awhile to learn how to walk in them. His feet had never been restrained like this before. 

Everything was different. Strange. Threatening. 

He didn’t belong.

Snow had sounded magical in Jahoni’s books, but it turned out to be cold and wet and miserable. There was no color in the landscape. Everything was muted white, black, and grey. Even the peoples’ skin seemed washed out, pale and strange. Some of them even had yellow hair like the pale demons he’d read about.

His fiance was absent. He’d spent the last two weeks worrying about what the Northern prince would be like. He’d hoped that by now he’d at least know what his future husband looked like. If he was young or old or crippled. Mehir didn't have any illusions that a handsome young man might be any less cruel than any other man. 

Mehir slumped in a chair by the window and stared out at vast mountains, still and immovable under the frozen snow. He wondered if his husband would reflect the eerie stillness of his homeland.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Aldrick met Mehir as they stood in front of an altar in the temple. The foreign prince was covered head to toe in a deep red cloth embroidered with gold that contrasted nicely with his dark skin tone. Even his face was hidden beneath a veil, so Aldrick could only see Mehir's eyes. They were pretty eyes, whiskey-colored and framed by thick lashes. The only other skin that showed were Mehir's feet and hands that were painted in red tattoos. He had an ankle bracelet in the shape of a scorpion with ruby eyes. Aldrick looked away, the hair on his neck prickling. Had the Argovians sent him a cursed demon-born to wed? 

Curse. 

Nevar was the goddess of marriage. A chill trembled through Aldricks limbs and he scowled. Mehir's eyes lowered and hid behind dark lashes. Was this young man Aldrick's curse? Aldrick didn't tend to believe in superstitions, but the wedding was too close to a living nightmare. The foreigner was likely horribly disfigured behind all that cloth. It was smart not to show the man's face before the wedding was finalized and it would too late for Aldrick to reject him. “...to be bound for all eternity by a kiss,” the priest finished. 

Before Aldrick could worry about the logistics of kissing someone with a veil, Mehir moved. He unclasped the veil from one side. Aldrick felt strong fingers thread through the hair at his nape. Mehir pulled him behind the makeshift curtain. Their noses bumped, someone’s head tilted. Soft warm lips brushed Aldrick’s, trembling and breathy. Aldrick leaned in and the lips retreated. Aldrick was in dismay to see the veil in place, having caught only a brief glance at his husband’s face. Mehir must have sorcery, because Aldrick's heart was beating after that one touch. 

“May Nevar give you her blessing,” The priest took Mehir’s right hand and Aldrick’s left and tied them together with a silk ribbon with a few feet of slack, “and keep the bindings of your relationship strong in the years to come.” 

That’s what Aldrick feared.

* * *

Mehir was married, to a man, to the future king of Elysadia. The thoughts didn’t have time register as his wrist was jerked and he was unbalanced by his husband’s retreat. Mehir scrambled after him, tripping over his feet as Aldrick took a sharp turn. The ribbon cut into Mehir’s wrist, and the peacekeeper forced a hot bubble of emotion down at the rough treatment. It was an accident. Aldrick didn’t realize how awkward it was for Mehir to catch up when they were tied together. Mehir owed his husband the benefit of the doubt.

The barbarian prince shoved the thick, ornate doors of the temples and stormed out. Mehir hesitated, jerking on the ribbon in turn. “Wait.” He didn’t have shoes.

Aldrick turned back, scowling at Mehir and nodded his head it the direction of the house, barking something that Mehir didn’t understand. Mehir’s heart twinged. It was the first time since the kiss Aldrick had looked at him, the first words his husband ever spoke to Mehir. He didn’t understand, but the look of contempt was clear. Aldrick stormed to the house and Mehir followed.

The temple was separate from the main house and connected by a stone walkway. The walkway was shoveled, so it was at least clear of snow, but the stones were cold and uneven on Mehir’s bare feet. Wincing, Mehir bit his lip to keep from shouting at Aldrick. It was a small discomfort to keep the peace.

Aldrick slowed once they were inside, for which Mehir was grateful. His feet were wet and slippery, and he feared that he’d fall on his tush if Aldrick kept up his earlier pace. Mehir grimaced at the small, muddy puddles he left on the hardwood.

The great hall was decorated in cream and red accents. Compared to Argova the display was dull, lifeless. There weren’t vibrant tapestries on the walls, lush carpets, and flowers bursting from every corner. Aldrick and Mehir were first to arrive and the room was empty except for a few servants making last minute changes.

Aldrick pulled Mehir to a small, round table away from the door. The ribbon was starting to feel like a leash. The peacekeeper shook the inappropriate thought from his mind and sat to Aldrick’s left. Now they were seated, surely Aldrick would have to acknowledge his husband. Mehir smoothed the fabric of his clothes, ensuring that all the layers were in place. His feet itched with discomfort as the dirt dried. Aldrick was not looking at him. Mehir fiddled with the too tight ribbon on his wrist.

Guests trickled into the room. A few young men and a young woman joined them at their table. Aldrick didn’t introduce Mehir. They all looked around Aldrick’s age, a couple years younger than Mehir.

One with soft curls and a wide grin sat next to Aldrick. He whispered something that made Mehir’s husband laugh, his eyes crinkling. They were both smiling. Mehir felt unease settle in his gut.

Next to the curly haired youth was a woman with dark blonde hair in braids. She smiled softly at Mehir and Mehir smiled back, thankful for the kindness. She was with a tall, handsome man who had a small scar that ran from his bottom lip to his chin. The mark didn’t deter from his smile.

The last two men were staring a Mehir with wicked grins. They had red-gold hair and similar facial features. Both of them carried the same thin nose and dimpled chin. He thought he overheard them said  _"hiding"_ and an unfamiliar word used several times. Little did Mehir know how he would loathe that word in the following months. One made a gesture at his own face that caused the other to laugh. They were laughing and talking to each other, but their eyes were on Mehir.

Mehir swallowed and tugged gently on the ribbon to get his husband’s attention. Aldrick paused and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. Mehir swallowed again. What if he was breaking some sort of social taboo? He didn’t know enough about the northern’s customs.  “ _Aldrick, will you introduce me?_ ”

Aldrick sighed, but waved his hand at the man next to him, _“Fionn,”_ then he pointe d down the line in turn. _“Freja, her brother Desmond, and the Joranson brothers: Orn and Halfdan._ ” Aldrick waved a hand in front of Mehir’s face. “ _Everyone this is Mehir_.”

Orn coughed the unfamiliar word into his fist. It sounded like "hora-len" to Mehir. He made a note to ask Ivan in private what it meant. Halfdan and Fionn snickered. Mehir jaw twitched. Benefit of the doubt. Benefit of the doubt. Mehir and Aldrick were married for less than a quarter hour. It wouldn’t be right to make judgments.

Peacekeepers loved everyone. Peacekeepers were not bias. Peacekeepers did not let their emotions rule. Mehir was an awful peacekeeper. It was no one wonder that his last engagement ended with scandal.

Ivan appeared at the same time as the first course. Mehir waved at his brother-in-law and the teen’s face lit up. Ivan weaved through the crowd to take the last seat, next to Mehir. Ivan turned out to be godsent. Mehir didn’t know how he would have survived the next two hours of the feast. Ivan was the only one who talked to Mehir. Freja tried for a hot second, but she seemed to get annoyed at Mehir’s lack of comprehension.

The dinner itself was awful. Tradition stated that he couldn't take the veil off the first night except in private with his husband. Aldrick was the only human authorized to see Mehir's face on their wedding day. A stupid tradition and technically Aldrick should have worn a veil too. 

Mehir was ravenous, but he’d expect that Aldrick and he would eat in private, where Mehir could be barefaced. Ivan suggested that Mehir eat under his veil, but Mehir found the thought embarrassing. If it had just been Ivan, but it wasn’t and there were those brothers and the man next to Aldrick who he was sure were making fun of him. That night he could go to the kitchen and ask for some left overs or something. Ivan frowned, _ “You are going to sneak leftovers for your wedding?”  _

It sounded pathetic when put that way. Maybe it was for the best. Mehir was nervous about the wedding night. The twisty feeling in his stomach would get worse with food. That’s what he told himself as he passed over each dish; the caramelized apples, fish cooked in orange sauce, rose hip soup, and the rest. He’d never tried northern food before and like everything in the north they smelled and looked plain, but Mehir was so hungry he doubted he would care.

The feast ended with the sound of drums. The sound grew louder as the tables were cleared and Mehir tapped his foot to the rhythm. A flute was added and voices and some stringed instrument. On the platform at the end of a hall a curtain opened, showing a group of musicians. A cheer vibrated through the hall, echoing off walls. Men shoved the tables near the musicians away and people started to dance in the spot that was cleared for them.

Mehir perked up, his melancholy thoughts evaporating. The music thrummed through him with life.

Mehir loved to dance. Every festival, since he could walk and up until he was eighteen, Mehir danced the goddess’ prayers. Back then the soles of his feet were callous and his muscles held the lean, whipcord strength of a dancer. He loved to practice until a dance became muscle memory and he didn’t have think anymore. He could let go. The world would shrink to him and his body, to the burn in his muscles and the battle-rush in his veins.

As a child, he pretended that one day he would join the temple dancers and dance for the gods everyday. Mehir was good enough to join, but it wasn’t meant to be.

He stood taking Aldrick’s hand without thinking. “Let’s dance.”

Aldrick stumbled to his feet. His eyes were blue-green with little, gold splotches. “ _What?"_ With a flush Mehir realized that in his excitement he’d spoken in Argovian. That Mehir didn’t know the word for ‘dance’ was a clear oversight of his teachers.

_“I want to move together,”_  He shook his hips to clarify his desire to dance and looked up at Aldrick through his lashes. It was the kind of look the married couples made when they danced together, sweet and adoring.

The blond’s eyes darkened, his lips turning up in a lopsided smirk. “ _You are not_ ‘hora-len’ _afterall._ ”  He released Mehir’s hand in favor of placing it on the small of Mehir’s back. Mehir found it strange, but maybe that’s their version for couples holding hands?

_“Come. Let’s_ dance _.”_ Aldrick butchered the pronunciation, but it was cute that he made an effort to speak Mehir’s language. Warmth spread through his chest. He did something right and now Aldrick was being kind and sweet. Mehir imagined Aldrick’s indifference before.

Aldrick walked with consideration of Mehir and slowed down when Mehir couldn’t match his pace. They were walking in the opposite direction from the dancers. Aldrick must know of a better place to dance where there wouldn’t be chairs and tables in the way.   _“Are you good at_ dance?”

_“The best,”_ Mehir bragged, _“I’ve practiced many different styles.”_

The Joranson brothers behind them roared in laughter and shouted drunkenly at the married couple. Mehir ignored them. He was going to dance with his husband and everything was going to turn out surprisingly well.

* * *

Aldrick’s cousins were wrong, Mehir was not passionless. He couldn’t wait to stick it to Orn’s face in the morning. On the way to their rooms, Mehir asked, in that polite manner of his, why they didn’t just do it in great hall and Aldrick almost choked on his tongue. Aldrick took a moment to compose himself and rubbed circles with his thumb into Mehir’s back. “I wanted some privacy to get to know you.”

The foreign prince nodded and not for the first time, Aldrick wished to rip the veil from his husband’s face. It was disconcerting to talk to someone without a face, without expressions. It was difficult to get a read on Mehir. He hadn't eaten at dinner and rarely spoke, not that Aldrick made any effort to include Mehir in the conversation, and only to Ivan in hushed tones. Orn’s insults showed no effect on the foreigner, who sat through the abuse as if Orn wasn't there.

The only sign of Mehir's inner thoughts showed in his eyes. They were an intelligent, warm brown crossed with rays of gold. With a look, Aldrick felt stripped to his core. It must be sorcery, except Aldrick didn't believe in superstitions. His husband had remarkable eyes, mundane or otherwise. Aldrick wanted to see Mehir's pupils blown in pleasure.

Aldrick’s rooms were on the fourth floor. Climbing stairs proved a tad problematic with the wedding bindings as they could only be a step or two apart. Aldrick glanced to check that they were on the same step and frowned at Mehir's grime-covered feet.

They'd been clean at the alter and then… damn. Aldrick halted recalling Mehir's shout to “Wait” when they'd gone outside. A stone dropped in Aldrick's chest. “Come on.” He took Mehir's hand and rushed him to their rooms.

He went over the walk from the temple in his mind and cursed himself. Why hadn't Mehir said anything? Was he trying to be a martyr or something?

Aldrick pulled Mehir into the sitting room and to an upholstered seat. “Wait here a second.” Aldrick slipped the knot free from his wrist, the binding falling limp against Mehir’s wrist.

The bathroom connected to both the sitting room and bedroom. Aldrick soaked a clean washcloth with the water from the sink. His rooms contained Argovian plumbing with spell worked pipes to pump water up to his room. It was an expensive and rare luxury that Mehir would doubtless take for granted.

He found Mehir struggling to untie the ribbon’s knot. He chuckled and sat at Mehir's feet. “Leave it. I'll find something to cut it later.” Mehir lifted his ink stained 

feet away from Aldrick with bewildered eyes. Aldrick sighed and grasped Mehir's ankle, the one without the anklet. “I'm sorry. About… earlier. I didn't realize you didn't have shoes.”

Aldrick had known, but he hadn't stopped to think of the implications. It wasn't like he gave Mehir time to find shoes at the temple. With gentle strokes, he cleaned the grime from Mehir's shin. A row of intricate butterflies flew up Mehir's ankle. Aldrick trace the design and felt Mehir shiver. Aldrick grinned and took the other foot, slipping the cursed anklet off. His fingers lingered.

“Thanks.” Mehir's voice shook. Aldrick took it as a victory. “For the apology.”

Aldrick hummed. He traced vines up with his fingertips to the soft skin of an inner thigh. Mehir jumped. “Ah,” the dark man swallowed audibly, “When can we _dance?”_

Aldrick chuckled, removing his hand and standing. Someone was eager.

Mehir rose gracefully and spun out of Aldrick's reach. His eyes were doing that come-hither thing that sent Aldrick's blood south.

“Now. Will you… remove your…” Aldrick gestured to his face. If talking to someone without a face was awkward, fucking would be a nightmare.

Mehir was moving at once, hips, arms, and legs twisting hypnotically. His hands paused for a second on the veil and unclipped the sides. The red-gold fabric fluttered to the ground and Aldrick froze.

Mehir's smile was unrestrained and genuine, lighting his face up with a flash of white teeth. His lips were luscious and full, begging to be sucked on. He had a cute round nose with a dimple on the tip. He danced with his whole body, hips rocking in time with Aldrick's speeding heart. 

Aldrick’s knees weakened at the sight. He heard, from those who went to slave brothels (Orn and Halfdan), that Argovians were the sexest dancers. Watching Mehir, Aldrick didn't doubt it.

More fabric disappeared as he watched revealing the rest of Mehir’s head. Mehir had dark glossy hair that was only a few centimeters long. He would have to grow it out. Only slaves wore their hair so short. Mehir would look beautiful with long hair strung up in gold pins. Maybe Aldrick would order some butterfly hair pins to match the ones on Mehir's ankles.

Mehir had a dark tattoos that looked different from the red ink that covered his skin. 

It lay at the base of his neck. The lines of black ink were dark and thick with sharp angles. They looked like letters weaved into a pattern.

Mehir's movements slowed and he flashed a coy smile at Aldrick. “Come on,” he held a hand to Aldrick, “Join me.”

Aldrick took Mehir's hand, smiled, and tugged him close. “You're beautiful.” Mehir's hands, which had landed on Aldrick's shoulders to steady himself, tightened, then loosened.

“Thanks,” he said breathlessly. He turned his face away. He bounced on his feet like he wanted to keep moving.

Aldrick dropped his husband's hand in favor of cupping his cheek. They didn't kiss properly at the wedding. Aldrick was determined to show Mehir how sexy his dance was. He licked his lips and placed an arm on Mehir's back.

Their lips smashed together and he devoured Mehir in a hungry kiss. Mehir's lips opened with a gasp and Aldrick took the invitation. He tasted heavenly, like dark chocolate and imported pomegranates, bitter and sweet and rare.

Mehir shoved Aldrick on his ass, their mouths ripping apart. Shocked, Aldrick looked up to see Mehir. Mehir gritted his teeth, nostrils flaring. His arms were wrapped defensively around his chest and he was glaring at Aldrick.

What the hell?


	5. Chapter 5

It took Mehir several long seconds staring at Aldrick,  _ his husband,  _ sprawled on the ground, to realize what he’d done. His eyes widened and he pressed his hand to his mouth. Aldrick kissed him. Aldrick kissed him and slipped his wet slimy tongue in his mouth. Not that it felt bad, just different, but Mehir wasn’t expecting a kiss.

In his culture faces were one of the most intimate parts of a person. The face was sensitive, vulnerable, and where most of the senses were located like sight, smell, taste, and sound and lips were especially sensitive to touch. Kissing was an extremely intimate act and Aldrick hadn’t eased into it at all. 

“Don’t kiss me,” he blurted and then again in Aldrick’s language, ” _ Don't kiss me.” _ Aldrick’s eyes widened and the crown prince moved to stand. Mehir backed up and rushed to clarify because Aldrick was his husband and it was their wedding night and they were expected to do much more than kiss by the end of the night. Mehir shivered, heart racing. His stomach lurched uncomfortably. _ “Without warning me first.” _ His words died out and he glanced away. He knew, realistically that other cultures didn’t put the same emphasis on kissing, but the act jarred him.

He didn’t understand what just happened. They were supposed to be dancing not...kissing. Was it normal for Northerns to kiss while dancing? Mehir didn't know the culture. He didn't know what he was doing. The room was suddenly too hot and private. His mind flashed with snatches of Hiro’s instructions that morning. It was customary during the cleansing baths for a family member to instruct the bride or groom about the upcoming marriage night.

“ _ What’s going on?” _ Aldrick stood, hands raised in front of him like he thought Mehir would attack. His brows were pinched, lips pressed into a frustrated line. He took in Mehir’s stiff posture, one hand hiding his face and the other wrapped around himself defensively. Mehir glared, daring Aldrick to move closer.  _ “I think we have a misunderstanding.”  _

Aldrick spoke too fast, his voice low with some emotion, and Mehir didn’t bothering trying to translate. He bent, eyes never leaving his husband and snatched the veil off the ground. He clipped it in place with trembling fingers and ran. 

_ “Mehir! Wait!”  _ Loud footsteps followed Mehir. His heart picked up.

Mehir sped up and tripped down the stairs towards the guest wing. He needed Jahoni. She knew more about the culture than Mehir and had a better grasp of the language. Jahoni would have gone back to her rooms the second it wouldn't be deemed impolite. She preferred books over people and Mehir hoped she was there already, because he didn’t think he could handle going back to the dining room with all those people. He knew he couldn’t handle going back to his husband. Not where he felt hot and naked and confused and Aldrick’s words sounded harsh and too clunky and Mehir needed space. 

_ “Mehir! Wait damn it.” _

Mehir turned a sharp corner and almost ran head first into Jahoni’s backs. “Jahoni,” he cried. His legs felt weak with relief as he skidded to a stop and clutched at Jahoni’s robes. Surprised Jahon turned and pulled him into her arms. She took in the sight of his wide eyes, crooked veil, and the broken marriage band around his wrist. 

She snarled, back straightening. Aldrick turned the corner and Jahoni released Mehir, stalking towards his husband.

* * *

“Are you Aldrick?” A slave (no not a slave, the woman was too finely dressed, though her hair was slave-short) shouted as she neared. Belatedly he realized she must be part of Mehir’s entourage, the one Aldrick was supposed to have met the previous day. Mehir was following and saying something quickly in that light, airy language of theirs and gesturing with wide arm sweeps.

“Yes,” He said, distracted and looked at Mehir. “We need to talk.”

“Yes, we do,” the woman said. Although she was a foot shorter she was intimidating. Her mouth sat in a flat no-nonsense line and she glared at Aldrick with cold dark eyes. “You had a week to finalize the marriage.”

_ “Jahoni! It’s okay. He didn’t do anything. I just freaked out.”  _ Mehir moved between them and rested a hand on the woman’s shoulder.  _ “Don’t do anything to break the treaty. I’m alright. Promise.” _

The woman glanced down at Mehir’s face and she motioned to the limp marriage band around his wrist, the loose end dangling near his hip.  _ “Why is that broken?” _

Mehir blinked. He looked confused, from what little Aldrick could see. She picked up the ribbon and held it accusingly at Aldrick. “Why is it broken?”

Aldrick’s jaw dropped as he realized her implication. He hadn’t expected a foreigner to know their customs. “It isn’t broken. I just took it off in our rooms. It’s inconvenient and blasted uncomfortable, but we didn’t--I haven’t finalized the marriage. Not yet.” Though Aldrick had planned to, but Mehir ran off before they got started. 

She frowned. “If nothing happened, then why is my brother running from you?”

Brother? Damn. Aldrick was making a wonderful impression on the in-laws. “I think there has been a mistake. Everything was fine and then he got upset and ran off.” Blasted curse. Aldrick was half convinced by now that his husband was touched in the head.  The crown prince could feel a headache building behind his forehead. He just had the worst case of blue balls, rejected by his husband, and yelled at by a diminutive foreigner woman. The only good thing about the situation was that no one was around to see his humiliation. 

She spoke rapidly to Mehir, most likely confirming Aldrick’s story. All Aldrick understood was the word  _ “dance”  _ spoken multiple times. “Yes.  _ Dance. _ He said he wanted to, so I took him to our room and he seemed excited, but then I tried to kiss him and he just freaked out.” He ran a hair through his hair and sighed loudly. He almost asked what the hell was wrong with her brother. 

The woman’s expression softened.  _ “Dance?”  _ she asked incredulously. “What do you think that means?”

Bemused, Aldrick felt the headache pound behind his eyes. “Sex, intercourse, consummation.”

At the last word Mehir made an unattractive sound, eyes narrowing on Aldrick.  

The woman bared her teeth. “He meant dance. He was asking you to dance with him, get to know each other, not…” she scowled and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Dance?” Well Mehir’s comment about doing it in the main room made more sense now. Aldrick felt his face heat. Still it had only been a kiss, Mehir’s reaction was extreme. He heard that Argovians were prudes, but this was ridiculous. 

She sighed. “Retie that,” she pointed to the band, “and come with me. It is overdue that you spoke with Devon and I, anyway.” She took the ribbon and grabbed Aldrick’s right wrist herself and tied the band with rough jerks.

Mehir raised an eyebrow at her in question. 

She sighed before saying something in her native tongue. _ “When the band breaks it means the marriage has been consummated. If it is simply undone then the marriage has been rejected. Eero went over the customs with us last night.”  _

Somehow Aldrick found himself following the woman. The walk to the receiving room of the guest wing was awkward. Mehir wouldn’t look at him, his shoulders a stiff line beneath his robes. It was just a damn kiss and they were going to consummate the marriage anyway so what was the big deal. The way he danced, Mehir had to know how sexy he’d been. That couldn’t have been a mistake. His husband was a damn tease.

Jahoni left the two of them on a loveseat while she went to get the other members of Mehir’s entourage. Mehir’s head was turned away from Aldrick, purposely not looking at him. He fiddled with a gold band on his wrist. “I’m not a whore,” he shouted at last. 

Aldrick jerked. What the hell? The man made no sense. “I never said you were.”

Mehir’s shoulders tightened visibly. “When I said I had...experience, I didn’t mean consummation.”

Aldrick snorted. “Consummation?” 

Mehir made an annoyed sound and looked at Aldrick. He looked away before Aldrick could read the expression in his eyes. “Is that not the word?” 

“I think you mean ‘sex,’ ‘consummation’ is only on the marriage night.”

“Are the acts different then?” The southern’s voice wavered with clear anxiety. 

“No.” 

Mehir’s shoulders relaxed a tad, but he kept his gaze toward the window and Mt. Nevar looming in the distance. Aldrick scowled, of all the mountains the window could be facing. It was like the damn goddess was mocking him. His husband wouldn’t even show his face to him. He was starting to wonder if it had really been as attractive as he remembered. He lifted a hand to move the veil out of the way and Mehir flinched violently.  _ “Don’t.”  _

Aldrick sighed, but lowered his hand. It was going to be a long night. 

* * *

Mehir was cringing on the inside. He kept going over their conversation, but with the realization that everyone thought he’d been talking about sex. In front of all those people (including the creepy brothers), Mehir had said that he knew several different styles. He wanted to disappear. Did Aldrick believe that Argova would have sent someone so unclean? It was an insult that Aldrick would even suggest that Mehir wasn’t a virgin. Oh night, Mehir even suggested dancing in the great hall, except Aldrick didn’t think he meant dancing. Mehir felt like his stomach was eating itself and he wanted to get as far as possible from Aldrick. Except he couldn’t, because of the wedding band. 

They couldn’t take the ribbon off until they had sex. It made Mehir’s face heat and his stomach twist violently. He knew all along that they would have to that night, but somehow the ribbon made everything worse. Mehir didn’t know how he’d survive the night. He’d ran because of a kiss earlier. How could he possibly be expected to… He was going to be sick. 

Hiro’s instruction from that morning did not help. His brother-in-law mentioned looking out for blood and prepping with oil and something about possible pain. And night! Nothing was supposed to go  _ up  _ there. He didn’t want to put his in anyone and he definitely didn't want anyone to put anything in him. Hiro had mentioned other forms of sex, but said it all depended on what Aldrick considered to be consummation. Hiro warned that Aldrick might only be satisfied with...penetration. 

“Mehir, Aldrick.” Mehir looked up to see Jahoni returning with Devon. They sat in armchairs facing the newly weds. Jahoni was repeating the customary introductions. Devon was staring at Mehir, his brows pulled together and jaw twitching. Mehir tried to loosen his muscles and smile with his eyes. It must not have been convincing, because Devon’s frown only deepened.

“Where were you last night? What was so important that you dishonored my brother by your absence?” Devon said and turned his dark steady eyes to Aldrick.

Jahoni frowned and translated by saying,  _ “Devon said that we missed your presence last night and he is glad to finally make your acquaintance.”  _

Devon continued to glare. Aldrick shifted on the loveseat his shoulder brushing Mehir’s for a brief second. He licked his lips and looked at Mehir and back to the siblings.  _ “My apologies,”  _ he said.  _ “There was some urgent business I had to take care of. Otherwise I wouldn’t have missed your arrival.” _

Jahoni translated and Devon sneered. “What kind of urgent business?”

Mehir interrupted. “Devon, let it go, please. It’s alright.” 

“It isn’t alright. If this is how he’s going to treat you in the future--” 

“Devon. Let it go. Please don’t start off on the wrong foot with my husband,” Mehir pleaded. The night was already going horribly. He couldn’t stand it if Devon broke the treaty. Mehir never heard of a divorce happening the same day as a marriage. It would be a scandal and then there would be an impending war with Elysadia as well as Lesh. “We need their ships and men to protect the coast.”

“The treaty isn’t worth it if this man is going to make you miserable.” He gestured at the barbarian prince dressed in leathers and furs and long wild hair.  “If he hurts you then even a kingdom of warriors won’t be enough to protect him.”

The crown prince flicked his gaze between Mehir and Devon, finally landing on Jahoni, a frown on his face.  _ “I apologized for the misunderstanding.”  _

No he hadn’t. Mehir could still feel the sensation of another tongue suddenly sliding against his own. Mehir bit his lip to keep from saying anything. Aldrick hadn’t apologized for kissing him, not that he needed to. They were married. He was in his right to expect intimacy with Mehir. Mehir shouldn’t have pushed him and ran away to his family like a child. It just...it would have been nice to know it was coming.

_ “Sorry, your highness, my brothers were discussing a family matter and got sidetracked.”  _ She gave Devon a look that made the older man snap his mouth shut.  _ “I think that all of us could benefit by learning a bit about our different cultures. Brother-found,”  _ she said addressing Aldrick.  _ “We consider kissing a very intimate act and Mehir is a virgin.” _

Mehir squirmed uncomfortably. Aldrick sighed, running a hand through his long silky hair. Mehir sort of wanted to touch it, just to see what long hair felt like. He was curious about the different braids and ornamentation, but he was afraid that Aldrick would take the touch as permission for...other stuff. He fiddled with the ribbon around his wrist in an attempt to loosen its constricting hold. It had pulled uncomfortably tight in their rush from the temple. 

Jahoni continued  _ “I must ask that you take things slow.” _

Oh night! Could the situation get any worse. “Jahoni, we are NOT talking about this.” He was never going to talk about his sex life in front of his siblings. That was one indignity that Mehir refused to tolerate. He barely heard Devon ask what they weren’t talking about.

Aldrick looked at Jahoni like she was mad.  _ “The treaty won’t be finalized until--” _

_ “Shut up,”  _ Mehir snapped and grabbed Aldrick’s hand. It was warm and large, about the same size as Mehir’s hands. He could feel calluses along Aldrick’s palm, probably from a sword or axe or some other weapon. He swallowed and dragged his focus away from where they touched.

_ “I meant as slow as circumstances allow,”  _ Jahoni amended.  

“Good night, brother, sister.” Mehir pulled Aldrick away from the room. Aldrick, besides being more muscular and probably twice Mehir’s weight, didn’t resist. 

“Mehir?”

“Let him go. I said what I wanted.”

Mehir squeezed Aldrick’s hand, face heating. He just wanted to crawl into a bed and never come out again. Preferably a bed he didn’t have to share with a stranger, a stranger he was expected to lose his virginity to. He dropped Aldrick’s hand the second they were out of sight. 

_ “Sorry. I,”  _ the whole language barrier was going to be the death of him. He struggled for words  _ “I did not see the kiss coming. I did not understand. Please warn me first.”  _ He studied a tapestry on the wall, without actually seeing it.  _ “Slow.”  _ He hated repeating Jahoni’s earlier words, but she was right. It was what Mehir needed.  _ “Please. Be slow.” _

Mehir flinched as he felt a hand touch his chin through the veil and tilt his face towards Aldrick’s. The man’s face was close, too close. Mehir held his breath, bile rising. Aldrick looked into his eyes for several long painful seconds, before releasing him.  _ “Okay. I promise not to touch you without permission. We’ll go slow.“ _

 


	6. Chapter 6

Back in their rooms, the newly weds stood in the middle of the sitting room for several long minutes, neither speaking. Mehir was still not looking at him. His head tilted to the side so Aldrick couldn’t even catch his eyes. Aldrick tried not to be offended. He was a little shocked to hear that Mehir was a virgin. He was older than Aldrick at twenty one and from what little Aldrick had seen Mehir was attractive. It was just Aldrick’s luck that he was married to a blushing virgin. 

It was insulting that Ja-whatever-her-name-was felt the need to tell Aldrick to go slow. He wasn’t a rapist. He wouldn’t pressure Mehir into anything or do anything Mehir was obviously uncomfortable with. The kiss was a misunderstanding. He’d be more careful now. Aldrick had no interest forcing himself on an unwilling companion. He could find willing bedmates just fine on his own. Aldrick couldn’t care less if they didn’t finalize the marriage within the allotted week. Then they could get this ridiculous marriage annulled and go back to their separate lives. It would be best for everybody.  

Mehir still wasn’t looking at him. Aldrick closed his eyes and took a deep breath. A tantalizing scent like cinnamon and vanilla, two rare and expensive flavors, invaded his space. He blinked and realized the mouth-watering smell was coming from Mehir. Was he wearing perfume? Like a southern lady? The thought was ridiculous, but Aldrick had to stop himself from pulling his husband to him and breathing in the sweet scent. “Mehir.”

Mehir tensed, but glanced at Aldrick. His eyes were the same bright gold-amber as before, large and piercing. Aldrick’s face softened. “We won’t finalize the marriage tonight, you can calm down. We have a week to ease into it. Slow, yes?” He didn’t want to go slow, but if that’s what Mehir needed he would. 

Mehir nodded. The sharp line of his shoulders loosened.  

“Okay then.” Aldrick reached for Mehir’s left hand, but stopped short of touching. “I’m going to remove the band now, alright?”

“But--” 

“It’s okay. We only need to wear it outside our rooms, when in public.” It would have been possible, but awkward if all newlyweds were expected to consummate the marriage with only a few feet of slack between their wrists. It was a bit humorous, honestly, now that Aldrick was thinking of all the different positions they could try. Maybe he and Fionn would have to try it sometime. 

Mehir swallowed audibly and Aldrick watched the young man’s adam’s apple bob. “Okay.”

Aldrick made quick work of the ribbon and dropped it to the ground. Mehir stepped back, rubbing his left wrist. His eyes followed Aldrick. “Okay.” Aldrick bit his lip nervously. Huntress, it had been awhile since he needed to negotiate something like this. Fionn and his other regular lovers all knew each other's preferences by now and weren’t afraid to speak up during sex if they did or did not like something. “We could take a bath together.” He rushed to add “Nothing sexual. Just to get used to each other naked,” when he saw Mehir’s eyes narrow in worry. It was difficult reading Mehir with his face covered, but Aldrick started to think it wouldn’t be impossible. “I won’t touch you without asking first. Are you okay with that?”

Another nod and Mehir took a slow step forward. 

“Alright then,” Aldrick mumbled. He wished Mehir would just say something. He led the way to their bathing room. It was a fairly large room with a toilet, sink, and a large sunken bathtub. He knew from experience the bathtub could easily hold three or more people. He mentioned the argovian piping and, as expected, Mehir nodded politely, but without any real interest. Of course he wasn’t impressed. He was Argovian, most likely all their pipes were charmed to heat and deliver water. Aldrick huffed out an annoyed breath and continued talking, mostly for something to occupy his mind as he ran the bath. “Every morning one of the dem--” Aldrick glanced up at Mehir standing by the door. Mehir eyes were narrowed. It was probably best not to mention Argovian slaves to his Argovian husband. He should also try to avoid using racial slurs like demon when talking about them. “Olanna,” he said remembering the woman’s name at last. “She um...recharges the crystals each morning.” The silence from the other side of the room was almost physically painful. 

Aldrick avoided talking to Mehir as the bath filled. He focused on the rising water and reminded himself over and over that he didn’t care what Mehir thought about him. Their marriage was a joke. 

Mehir was weak and cowardly. He couldn’t believe that the young man had run to his sister instead of talking things out like a normal human being. He wasn’t a child. A future consort to the crown needed to be able to solve their own problems. They could have just talked about the kiss. Mehir should have told Aldrick himself that he was nervous and wanted to do things slowly. Yeah Aldrick kissed him without warning him first, but what was Aldrick supposed to think? Argovian dancing should be banned. It was too sexy and if Argovians were going to be prudes then they shouldn’t dance like that. He forced the memory of Mehir’s flexing torso and rocking hips from his mind.

He shut the water off and turned to his husband. “Remember we’re just getting used to each other’s bodies. I won’t touch you without permission. No surprises.” 

Mehir nodded. His eyes never left Aldrick and the northern prince found it a little nerve wracking. 

“I’m going to take my clothes off now.” He felt stupid, saying everything he was about to do, but he didn’t want Mehir running from their chambers again. It wouldn’t be good for his reputation. He tells himself that is the only reason he would feel upset.

* * *

 

Mehir appreciated that Aldrick was talking slower. Translating in his head was more difficult when he was nervous. Even with Aldrick speaking slowly, Mehir was having a hard time. He was having difficulties thinking of what to say not to mention translate his thoughts into a foreign language. After the whole “dance” thing, Mehir wasn’t taking any chances saying the wrong thing.  So he nodded and stayed quiet as Aldrick started to strip.

His husband was good looking. Mehir wouldn’t deny it. He had shoulder length pale hair that looked soft and luscious. It was done up in intricate braids with beads and little trinkets. There was one metal hair thing that looked like a miniature wolf. 

Aldrick’s coat and outer layers were piled on a stone bench, under a shelf of towels. He smiled 

at Mehir. Aldrick’s mouth was wide and reminded Mehir of a fox or a wolf from the pictures he’d seen in books. He half expect to see fangs when Aldrick’s smiled. Instead his husband had a fairly mundane set of teeth, no less heartstopping for their lack of fangs. It was a wicked mouth with full soft looking lips and little dimples to either side. 

Aldrick’s smile widened and he took off his shirt, revealing his nicely toned torso and corded muscles.

It was good that Aldrick was healthy and strong, but the sight didn’t do anything to Mehir. Staying a virgin had never been a hardship for Mehir. Sex didn’t interest him. He didn’t feel all tingly or a rush of warmth to his groin with he saw someone. The one time Mehir was interested in touching someone intimately was the night his first engagement dissolved.

Aldrick chuckled, breaking Mehir from his thoughts.  _ “Are you going to join? Or are you enjoying the show?”  _

Mehir’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t caught that, whatever he said. 

Aldrick sighed and waved his hand toward the bathtub. Slower than necessary he said,  _ “Are you going to bathe with your clothes on?” _

Oh. Mehir shook his head and started to take off his outer robe. The exercise wasn’t just so Mehir could see Aldrick naked. It had something to do with them getting used to each other naked, which meant Mehir needed to be naked too. He turned around so he wouldn’t see Aldrick watching him as he took off his veil and the layers of his wedding robes. He folded everything neatly and set them next to Aldrick’s clothing on the bench, where they’d stay dry. 

He turned to see Aldrick in the bathtub, looking up at Mehir with that wide smile of his. Mehir had to clutch his hands together to keep from covering either his face or his nether regions. He avoided Aldrick’s bright green eyes as he slipped into the water on the other side of Aldrick. The water was warm and a welcome respite after running about barefoot down the cold stone hallways. Mehir sat on a bench running along the length of the tub. Facing each other there was about a foot between their knees. They were simultaneously too far away and too close. 

Aldrick didn’t move, for which Mehir was grateful. He just looked and looking was alright. Mehir wanted to look too and they were married, so it was okay. 

Aldrick had nice cheekbones, Mehir decided.His nose was crooked, with a little bump in the middle that Mehir wanted to run his finger over. He had thick, confident eyebrows, a nice jaw, and predatory eyes that made Mehir want to squirm.  _ “You are very beautiful,”  _ Aldrick said voice rough. 

That word Mehir knew. He gave a hesitant smile.  _ “Thank you. So are you.” _ He wouldn’t call Aldrick beautiful necessarily. His features were too hard and sharp for that, but he didn’t have the words for how he felt. He didn’t know how to say handsome or tell Aldrick that his face was interesting and Mehir wanted to stare at it forever. His face was like a puzzle to Mehir, like if Mehir stared long enough he would fine some truth in the lines of Aldrick’s face.

_ “What do your tattoos mean?” _

Mehri frowned and bit his lip before admitting that he didn’t know what Aldrick said. Aldrick’s lips pressed thin and the man looked at the ceiling and back to Mehir.  _ “The images on your skin. What do they mean?” _

Oh. Mehir blinked and he smiled, genuinely pleased. He pointed at them as he explained the significance of each one, the best he could with a limited vocabulary. He felt more than saw Aldrick’s gaze follow his finger as the man hummed in response to Mehir’s explanations. He felt his skin tingle with nervousness as Aldrick looked, but Mehir didn’t think it was the kind of tingles his siblings talked about when they mentioned their spouses. When he finished with the temporary decorations on his arms, legs, hands, and feet, Aldrick interrupted. _ “What about that one.” _ He pointed to his own chest, above where his heart would be. 

Mehir looked down at his own chest where in permanent black ink was a circle made of interweaving symbols. There was a blank spot in the middle, just above where Mehir’s heart was. He worried at his lip and traced around the tattoo.  _ “It’s um...family. All Argovians have it.”  _ He traced his finger over the symbols for his mother and father’s ancestral lines, then closer to the center where his parents names spiraled, interlocked. His hand rested on the blank spot in the middle and he felt his cheeks heat.  _ “Your name will go here. After…”  _ After they knew for sure that Aldrick wasn’t going to reject him. 

Aldrick hummed in answer which Mehir took as either a positive or negative reaction. His lips were pressed together, eyes narrowed, and he was no longer smiling. He didn’t seem angry or upset though.  _ “What about the one on your neck?” _

Mehir hesitated and touched the black tattoo at the base of his nape.  _ “Identity.”  _ He didn’t feel like explaining it more than that. It identified him as royalty, as a mage, and as sixth born or in other words as a peacekeeper. He had heard Aldrick almost call the mage woman Olanna a demon. He wasn’t going to tell Aldrick that he was also a mage. Not that he thought Aldrick didn’t know. It wasn’t as if they were keeping his mage status a secret. In fact, his mage blood was partly why he was chosen for the marriage. That and Mehir was romantically attracted to men and women, which his parents felt meant that he was sexually attracted to both as well. Mehir squirmed. In four years Aldrick would be allowed to marry another consort, a female. Then Mehir would be expected to have a child with her, so Aldrick would have an heir. Even though the heir wouldn’t have Aldrick’s blood, it would be considered his as any child of his consorts were considered his. Mehir hoped desperately that next time he would know the woman before hand, that maybe he would have a choice in the matter. 

He shoved the thought from his mind. It was too much having one spouse at the moment. He couldn’t think of a second. In his culture people practiced monogamy and the whole polyamorous marriage confused him.

_ “Can I kiss you?” _

_ “No,”  _ Mehir responded automatically. Then because he knew he was making things difficult, Mehir scooted closer around the tub until he was sitting next to Aldrick. He did not look below Aldrick’s chest, he was not ready to see that part of his husband’s anatomy.  _ “You can look and you can touch, but no kissing.”  _ He lifted his arm up so that Aldrick could get a closer look at the vines intertwined around his skin. He hesitated and asked. _ “Can I...touch your hair?” _

Aldrick flashed another wicked smile and nodded, clearly amused. Mehir twisted so Aldrick could hold his one arm and look at the tattoos while Mehir ran his other hand through Aldrick’s hair. 

It was soft and silky. He liked the feeling of running his fingers through the loose strands and the texture of the braids. He pulled his hand a little too roughly at one point and Aldrick winced and gently grabbed his wrist.  _ “Stop. Just for a second.” _

Mehir pulled his hand back.  _ “Sorry.” _

Aldrick rolled his eyes.  _ “It’s fine. I like you playing with my hair, just let me take these out first.”  _ Aldrick loosened some of the braids and removed the ornaments and beads. He made a small pile on the floor by the tub. When he finished he took Mehir’s hand and placed it back in his hair.  _ “Will you undo the braids for me?” _

Mehir didn’t understand some of the words, but he got the idea and started to carefully unbraid Aldrick’s hair, his fingers flowing through the gold locks. Aldrick rested a hand on Mehir’s back and his thumb rubbed circles into Mehir’s skin. Mehir didn’t mind. It wasn’t bad and it didn’t make him feel uncomfortable and vulnerable like the kiss had. It was a little weird, touching someone when they were both naked, but Mehir was calm. It was better now that he knew they weren’t going to do anything sexual that night and Aldrick would ask before touching. Mehir felt a little more in control of his life. Ever since he learned of the engagement, and even before if Mehir was honest, control was something he was severely lacking in his life. 

Mehir took Aldrick’s hand, the one he hadn’t held yet. There was a scar, twisted and raised that ran down Aldrick’s middle finger from his second knuckle to the middle of his palm. Mehir traced the scar with his thumb, curious. The skin was lighter compared to the surrounding skin, pinker. He flipped Aldrick’s hand and saw the scar ran down the other side as well. It was like whatever caused the scar had cut through to the other side. He leaned closer, his thigh brushing Aldrick’s. 

Aldrick gasped and pulled his hand away.  _ “Okay. We’re done. Bath time over.”  _

  
Surprised Mehir watched Aldrick clamber out of the bath and pull a towel around his hips. The blond was carefully not looking at Mehir.  _ “I don’t suppose you have sleeping clothes do you? I guess I’ll lend you some of mine. Dry off, I’ll be back in a second, with clothes. So....stay there.”  _ Then Mehir was alone in the tub staring at the door. Had he done something wrong? 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some characters make ignorant comments about asexuallity.

Mehir watched the water drain from the tub in a soapy whirlpool as his thoughts spun and he wondered what he did wrong. He must have done something wrong to make Aldrick. For a moment, everything seemed like it would work out, but of course Mehir messed up. Was the scar a sensitive subject? Had he hurt Aldrick acidently? As the warm water receded, Mehir's damp skin grew chill. He shivered and exited the tub, drying off with one of the thick towels.  The towel was slightly chilly and Mehir distracted himself by thinking up a spell to place on the shelves. He could turn it on before they bathed and by the time they finished the towels would be nice and toasty. Maybe Adrick would appreciate Mehir if he added little spells around the suite to make things easier. 

Mehir wanted this marriage to work. It needed to work. He couldn’t bare to fail his empire and family a second time. First he would learn the language better, he didn't want another misunderstanding. Jahoni wouldn't always be around to clean up his mistakes.

Mehir wrapped a clean towel around his waist and sat on the bench next to their clothes. He was considering putting his wedding robes on when Aldrick returned, looking a little flustered and out of breath.

Aldrick was dressed in a simple tunic and loose trousers.  He didn't look at Mehir as he set the clothing down by the door. _“I'll wait in the bedroom. You get dressed.”_

Before Mehir could reply, Aldrick was gone. Mehir blinked, his stomach tying itslef into uneasy knots. He dressed in a similar pair of clothing to Aldrick. Normally he didn’t wear much to bed; nights in Argova were hot and humid and for once, he was glad they were in Elysadia instead of Argova.

He eased out the door into the living room. His toes curled in the soft carpet as he hesitated in the doorway. He could do this. Aldrick said no touching and there wouldn’t be any sex. Mehir was grateful for that. He planned to postpone the sex part of their marriage as long as possible. Mehir didn’t _know_ Aldrick and sex didn’t sound appealing.  He didn’t want to kiss either, though he didn’t mind when Aldrick held his hand or traced the tattoos on his skin. Those touches felt soothing, nice. Mehir wished the affection was genuine.

Finally, the chill seeping into his bones forced him to move. Moonlight glinted through a large window on one wall and lit up the modest room. A desk occupied one corner by the window and two wardrobes lined the wall opposite. The majority of the room was dominated by the bed.

_“Come on.”_ Aldrick patted the bed next to him. He sat against the headboard, his legs and waist covered by blankets _“There’s enough room for both of us.”_

The bed looked like it had enough room for four people. It was a huge four poster bed with a canopy and thick curtains that were halfway drawn around the bed. Mehir eased forward, cautious, but curious as he touched one of the curtains. _“What’s this for?”_

_“Privacy,”_ Aldrick said with a toothy grin, which fell when he noticed Mehir tense. _“But mostly to keep the cold out.”_

Oh. Well Mehir was okay with that. Anything to keep the cold at bay sounded good. He scrambled onto the bed on the other side of Aldrick. He slipped under the covers and sighed as his frozen toes were finally covered. Aldrick shut the curtain on his side and Mehir did the same, shutting out the moonlight.

_“Good night,”_ he said and burrowed into the blankets on his side, heart thudding. He felt terribly vulnerable. It wasn’t like he was more vulnerable in the dark, in Aldrick’s bed, than he had been in the bath, naked. However, Mehir felt more vulnerable, even with enough space between them for two other people and fully dressed. He clutched at the blankets and stared, unblinking at the other side of the bed.

Aldrick’s green eyes glinted in the faint light and Mehir could feel them looking. _“Good night.”_ The eyes disappeared as Aldrick lay down, a few feet from Mehir. The mattress bounced a little with the movement.

Mehir swallowed. _“No touching.”_

_“Okay,”_ Aldrick replied.

* * *

It didn’t take long for Aldrick to fall asleep. He had a lot of experience sharing a bed, even with a practical stranger. He woke early, as usual, only to find Mehir already awake. The strange southern prince sat at the end of the bed examinating one of the posts. He traced the spells engraved in the wood and lightly touched the embedded soul gems. There was a cute little dent between his brows, like he was lost in concentration.

“Morning.”

Mehir jumped and fell away from the post with an almost guilty expression. “Morning”

The crown prince yawned and stretched his arms about his head. He gave Mehir a soft, lazy smile and motioned to the bedpost nearest him. “I don’t know what the other spells do.” Each of the four posts was inlayed with spellwork. Between the lines of runes carvings from myths hid the soul gems in an artistic display. He shrugged. The bed was passed down through several generations and at some point the knowledge about what the four spells did was lost, except one. “This one,” he touched an amber soul gem, similar in color to Mehir’s eyes, the stone was set as the eye of a dragon. “Creates heat. It is safer and more resourceful than having a fire burn all night.” 

Mehir perked up like a hunting dog catching a scent. A slow smile spread across his face, eyes bright, and he crawled over to Aldrick, crowding into his space. He studied the carvings, nose scrunched in adorable concentration. His lips moved as he followed the symbols up the post.

Aldrick tilted his head. He hadn’t thought a native Argovian would be interested in spellwork. Spellwork was probably everywhere in the empire, unlike in Elysadia, where it was a rare and expensive luxury. He recalled seeing embroidered spellwork on Mehir’s robes and the foreign price wasn't been intrigued by the spelled pipes. Of course, the pipes were hidden in the floors and wall, so one couldn’t see the actual symbols. Aldrick chuckled at Mehir’s apparent good mood and slipped from bed. Maybe he should find some of the books he “acquired” in Shain. Mehir might like them. “When you’re done we can head to breakfast.”

He didn’t bother to leave the room to change. Mehir focused on the spells. Aldrick tried not to be offended that his husband found squiggles in wood more interesting than Aldrick’s abs. He checked the second wardrobe, the servants had cleared it out before the wedding, and found it full of light, colorful fabrics and jewelry. “It looks like your clothes have been unpacked,” he observed.

Mehir gave him a cursory glance, nodded, and turned back to the spell.

Aldrick shrugged and went to the bathroom to brush his unruly hair and plait it into something more functional. It was going to be a busy day. He needed to check with his aunt that the armada had enough warships to fulfill the treaty and that preparations were being made for them to patrol the sea between Ilen and Shian. He needed to check that they would have enough food, supplies, and men. If only Ivan had completed his coming of age. This would have been a perfect opportunity for him to get experience on the sea.  There was unlikely to be any real fighting at first, if at all. Empress Jya’s plan was that with Elysadian warships patrolling Shian’s coast, Shian would cease to be a tempting conquest.

Aldrick also needed to help spread the word that Argovian soil was off limits for raiding. Then there was the matter of accompanying his father and the Argovian delegates (who Aldrick had made a “lovely” impression on the previous night) in discussions on trade agreements.

* * *

Mehir hardly slept the night before from a combination of nerves, cold, and hunger. He hadn’t dared go to the kitchens. He couldn’t go without Aldrick while the marriage band was unbroken. Mehir was embarrassed and didn’t want to inconvenience Aldrick. It was his own fault he was hungry anyway. He didn’t eat much for breakfast or lunch the day before, because he was so nervous about the wedding and meeting Aldrick. Jahoni was right, as usual, when she said he should eat more. He was feeling a little lightheaded.

Aldrick and Mehir didn’t say much as they tied the wedding band and went downstairs to the smaller, family dining room. At a table sat Eero, his wives, Ivan, the Joranson brothers (which meant they were somehow related to Aldrick), and about a dozen other people Mehir didn’t know. On the end of the table, farthest from Eero, was Jahoni, Devon, and Hiro.

Mehir grabbed Aldrick’s hand and pulled him towards his family. Aldrick resisted Mehir’s tug and looked pointed toward a seat by Eero’s first wife and across from Ivan. Mehir forced his face into a neutral expression. He gripped Aldrick’s hand tighter and pulled again toward the far end, heart fluttering. He hoped Aldrick wouldn’t get upset, that he wasn’t breaking a huge social custom in front of his in-laws, but Jahoni, Devon, and Hiro were leaving at the end of the week. Mehir couldn’t let go of any chance to spend time with them in the meantime. Maybe he should be focused on getting to know his husband and his husband’s family, but he was already homesick.

Maybe something showed on his face or maybe Aldrick grew tired of their silent battle, but he relented. Mehir sat next to Devon, across from Jahoni and Hiro. He brushed Devon’s shoulder with his own, just for the comfort of family and familiarity. Aldrick sat with a frown and gave a weary glance toward Devon.

Low whispering could be heard through the room since the moment they arrived. He heard one of the Joransons, Orn or Halfdan, say that “hora-len” word again. He debated asking Jahoni about it, but decided not to. There were several dishes laid out on the table and looking around, Mehir found that everyone was helping themselves and passing the food around. It seemed fairly casual, considering that Aldrick told him that breakfast was one of the mandatory meals they had to eat with family. The food all looked strange and unappetizing, but he was hungry enough to try about anything. Everything he tried didn’t taste much better than it looked.

Hiro frowned at him. “You look tired. Did everything go alright last night.”

Mehir looked at the ribbon tying their wrists together. “Yeah. I’m okay. Nothing happened.”

“Good,” Devon muttered, stabbing a chunk of meat with unnecessary force. “He better not do anything without your clear, enthusiastic consent. If he does anything that you feel a little uncomfortable--”

“I--just,” Mehir interrupted and ignored the rest of Devon’s rant. “We sort of ‘saw’ each other, you know?”

Hiro nodded and made a go-on motion with his hand. Devon’s rant got louder.

Mehir licked his lips and glanced at his siblings. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have in front of them, but Hiro was the only one he could go to for advice on this. Part of why Hiro came was to explain Mehir's new 'marital duty' since Hiro also married a man. Mehir didn’t know if they would have a chance to speak alone before he left. And per tradition it wouldn't be appropriate to ask anyone else about sexual matters besides his husband. “I didn’t get...excited or anything. I’m supposed to feel something, right?”

His brother-in-law frowned. “Not necessarily. You might have been too nervous or the situation wasn’t right. It might take time.”

“Okay.” Mehir hadn’t been attracted to Hiro at first either.

Jahoni pressed her lips together. "If this is too hard for you, if you don't want this marriage, then we will find another way."

Mehir forced a painful smile. He had to do this. It was his purpose, after all. No matter how much he wished he could fulfill his peacekeeper status with study and making intelligent decisions, the gods seemed to feel otherwise. His parents said his value lay in his potential to create allies. Jahoni was the scholar, not him. He couldn't fail them a second time. "I can do this. I’m happy. It’s okay."

No one looked convinced."

* * *

Breakfast was painful. The first thing Mehir did when they entered the room was head straight to the lower end of the table, the side farthest from the king and symbolically the king’s favor. It was appropriate for the foreigners to sit there, they weren’t technically family yet, not until the marriage was finalized. Aldrick, on the other hand, was the crown prince. His place was on the King’s right-hand side, one seat down from his mother, directly across from his brother Ivan. There was even an extra seat next to his own for Mehir. Aldrick tried to pull his stubborn husband towards their seats. Mehir kept advancing in the opposite direction, and Aldrick gave up rather than cause a scene.

He felt a humiliated flush burn across his cheeks. It had been years since his father ordered him to sit elsewhere. The last time was when Aldrick was fourteen and tried to sneak onto a departing longship. He was caught before he even touched the ship. Eero was furious, and Aldrick got a tearing down in front of everyone at the docks. The entire next week he'd been forced to sit five spots down from his regular seat, even then he hadn't sat at the other end of the table. Aldrick knew he didn't do anything wrong. He wasn't out of his father's favor, but he still felt shammed sitting so far from his favor. The glances at his bound wrist weren't helping. 

“Your demon is already dragging you out of favor,” Orn quipped as the newlyweds passed him. He looked pointedly at the wedding band and smirked. “He must be passionless after all, or maybe you’re losing your touch.” A muscle in Aldrick's jaw twitched as he took his seat. If he said anything, it would turn into a scene which was just what the brothers' wanted. They loved getting a rise from people especially during formal occasions. The prince made a mental note to place Orn and Halfdan on early morning guard duty at the Northwest gate.

His idiotic cousins were closer to Aldrick and the foreigners than their mother, Lady Rayna. Unfortunately, that meant were far enough from Aunt Rayna they didn't feel the need to censor themselves. "Maybe," Halfdan whispered, loud enough for his words to carry. "He's so ugly under all those clothes that Aldrick couldn't get it up."

Aldrick's nostrils flared, and he leaned on the table toward the brothers. "Maybe," he hissed, "you should shut up, and show your new prince some respect."

Orn snorted. "As if the flatlander understands a word we're saying." He grinned as if it was all a good joke.

"Ah," Halfdan said, with a wink. "The foreigner has got him whipped, and he hasn't even put out yet."

Aldrick lost his appetite. It wasn't their business, it wasn't anyone's business, what happened in his marriage bed. Mehir wasn't ready, and that was none of their damned business. Unfortunately, because he was the crown prince, his sex life was a favorite topic for gossip. Everyone felt they had a right to know.

Things didn't improve throughout the meal. Mehir ignored Aldrick and spoke in that stupid, lyrical language of his. Their language was all vowels and air, and it was impossible to tell when one word ended and another started.

Mehir and the other flatlanders kept sneaking glances at Aldrick, except for the brother-in-law, Devon, who glared openly. It was obvious who they were talking about. Then when Aldrick confronted Mehir, his husband apologized under his breath and didn't say another word for the rest of the meal. That wasn't what Aldrick had meant. He'd just wanted Mehir to stop ignoring him. If he was going to gossip he might as well do it in a language Aldrick understood.

The second Mehir seemed finished, Aldrick stood and excused them from the table. While the other man glanced over his shoulder at his family, he didn't resist Aldrick as they left the room. Thankfully.

* * *

Mehir followed Aldrick down the stairs and to the main floor. It was almost physically painful to leave Jahoni and the others. He felt lost. At least during the wedding, he knew what was expected of him. Suddenly he realized he didn’t even know what Aldrick’s responsibilities were or his own. Mehir’s throat tightened as he followed his husband down the dull stone corridors. He missed the light, airy, sunlit walkways of Argova, the bright tapestries, and open archways.

They passed a dozen light haired Elysadians on their way, and Mehir felt their gazes creep over his skin. He forced himself to keep his back straight and not hunch into himself. He represented Argova now, and these were his people. He couldn’t afford to make a bad impression, not that he could help it. Aldrick led him into a new wing of the castle that smelled like metal, leather, and sweat. The sounds of dozens of people moving about their tasks clanged through the walls. The doors were closer together, and they passed several warriors in different states of dress. It looked like barricades. Mehir felt his heart rate triple, and he edged closer to Aldrick. His fear was ridiculous. This was his home now. These were his people, even if it didn’t feel like it. It wasn’t like the stories were barbarians raided the coasts and snatched up mages to enslave. It wasn’t like anyone there was going to drag Mehir off to a foreign world. He was already in Elysadia.

Aldrick stopped in a large training room. One wall was covered in targets that archers were practicing with. A few people were throwing knives or hand axes. In the center of the room the floor dipped and was covered in sand, and several men and women stood inside the pits dueling with practice swords and other weapons Mehir didn’t recognize.

“ _Fionn_ ,” Aldrick called over the clash of wood and metal. One of the fighters stopped and backed away from their partner. It was the young man with curly brown hair from the wedding feast. He jogged over to them and gave Aldrick a wicked smile.

“ _Yes, your highness.”_ Fionn didn’t look at Mehir but smirked when he looked at the unbroken band around their wrists.

Aldrick rolled his eyes and motioned for the other to follow them to the hall where it would be easier to hear. _“You’re in charge of training and drills today. Let Master Elona know I couldn’t make it today.”_ He held up his wrist to show of the band. “ _I’m a little tied up._ ”

The soldier snorted, his eyes twinkling. Mehir’s stomach turned uneasily. _“I can see that.”_ The man's eyes flicked up and down Mehir's form, and flicked back to Aldrick, dismissing Mehir as unremarkable. Mehir took a step back and felt his face heating. " _When do you think you'll be back to sparring?"_

" _Soon_ ," Aldrick said with a shrug. " _A week at most_."

The soldier grinned. " _Don't wait too long. We wouldn't want your skills to atrophy."_  He winked and smacked Aldrick on the shoulder. " _See you soon._ " He turned on his heels and barked for the warriors to pair up for training.

Aldrick stared after Fionn for a few seconds, his gaze lingering, before leaving the barracks.

Mehir followed with a frown. He only understood about two-thirds of the men's conversation and felt out of the loop. There was something weird about the two men that made Mehir uneasy, and while he didn't understand everything he got the gist. Aldrick wasn't able to perform some of his duties because of Mehir. It made him feel ill, knowing he was inconveniencing people. He worried at his lip with his teeth as he thought about the upcoming night. The longer he dragged things out the more gossip would generate, and the more people would question their marriage. His chest constricted. He would have to give up his virginity by the end of the week anyway or the marriage and therefore the treaty would be null. Yet, the thought of doing _that_ made Mehir shiver with restrained disgust. He couldn't imagine himself being that vulnerable or intimate with anyone, especially not someone he knew for less than a few days.

Argova needed Elysadia's warships to protect their coast. While rich in resources such as spices and soul gems, Argova's military strength was lacking. They didn't have the manpower they needed to protect their riches. Hired mercenaries couldn't be trusted, not the way an allied army could be. Mercenaries could switch sides as soon as someone offered them more money or power. There was a lot of money to be made in the slave trade of mages and it wouldn't be surprising if the mercenaries hired to protect them choose to make money off Argova's people instead. It wouldn't be the first time.

Could Mehir risk the treaty, his people, just because he found the idea of the marriage bed distasteful? No.

_"Stop that. You're going to make yourself bleed."_ A soft pried pulled Mehir's bottom lip from his teeth. Mehir flinched back, blinking wide-eyed at his husband. They'd stopped in the hallway by a door and Aldrick was giving him a concerned look, his hand still raised by Mehir's face.

_"Sorry,"_ Mehir mumbled.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and Comments are life. :) So what do you think?


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